In This Day and Age
by Pretty Persistent
Summary: /Taking a stand, based on principle, hardly makes you any stronger; any better, or any different. Nor does it mean you know how to help yourself./ A character examination of Judy Fabray, with Finn Hudson, Terri Schuester, and Quinn Fabray.


**A/N: Happy Christmas, everyone! :D**

**I wish I could say this is some kind of Christmas present, to all my readers, but it's just something I've been working on, for a little while, and happened to finish up this morning.**

**I have an odd infatuation with Judy Fabray. I'd love to see more of her character. When I decided to write this, I was merely anticipating a quick, fun, crack-shippy fic. But it turned out to be a whole lot more, and I'm really happy with the way it turned out. I hope all of you will give it a chance! And join me in petitioning to bring back Judy Fabray! lol.**

**Anyway, enjoy, everyone. And as always, let me know what you think! :)  
**

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" you whisper, panting heavily, while lying on your back, with your legs hitched around his waist. "I'm well past your age…"

You shut your eyes, tight, savoring the feel of his warm, wet lips against your neck. From the moment he first kissed you, you knew this could all go away, in an instant, and there would be nothing you could do about it.

He could start dating that gorgeous Latina cheerleader Quinn used to hang around, so much. Hell, he could start dating _Quinn_, again.

You shake the doubts out of your mind. For whatever reason, the boy has some kind of crush on you. And you're absolutely loving the attention.

"I'm sick and tired of _girls _breaking my heart," he mutters.

You whimper, softly, as he runs a hand up under your blouse, and over your breast. You haven't been touched like this in so, so long, it feels. He's not exactly skilled, but he's patient and gentle, and you figure he'll get even better, with time.

Not that you're anticipating any more of that. Time.

"What if I do?" The fact that you have to phrase it as a question is pathetic enough. But you don't even believe the words, as they leave your mouth in a desperate whisper.

You're desperate for someone to be afraid of losing you, but you know he has nothing to lose.

"You won't." You gulp, having expected that response, anyway. You both know it's true. "And if you do, at least it wouldn't be carelessly…" You can't help but smirk at the fact that he at least contemplated the idea, if only for a fleeting second.

He slides your panties off, sliding a finger inside of you. Your head rolls back, and you know by the end of it that your eyes will be doing the same.

XXX

A week ago, your dentist invited you to his Christmas Eve party. Apparently he and his wife are just exceptionally outgoing, friendly people. You asked Quinn if that was something she would want to do, that night, but she said it would be weird, because, as it turns out, Dr. Howell's wife is her guidance counselor.

That's why you're slightly confused when, that day, she tells you that she and the rest of the glee club are spending Christmas Eve at Mr. Schuester's.

You don't really ask questions anymore, though. You basically lost that right, when you abandoned her for half a year.

You know she's seeing yet another football player, named Sam. He's been to the apartment a few times. He seems like a decent boy, but Quinn doesn't tell you much. Of course, you certainly don't want a repeat of her sixteen and pregnant story, but since you didn't show an ounce of support for her, throughout it, you no longer reserve the authority to do much about it.

She leaves pretty early, claiming they have to decorate. You forget about the dinner you were going to make. There's always tomorrow, and you'd rather not eat alone, tonight.

In fact, you'd rather not be alone, at all.

You're not sure how going to an exciting holiday party, thrown by a perfect, suburban married couple is going to make things any better. Yet, you find yourself standing in front of the many dresses you have acquired over the years, from attending Russell's holiday work parties.

You choose a short, shiny silver number that is probably a few years out of your range. Still, you pair it with black heels and a black shawl, leaving your hair pulled back in its traditional clip.

How bad could it be, showing up to a party, alone? After a quick trip to the store, you'll be fine.

XXX

After struggling to ring the doorbell, and hearing the door click open, you peek your head around the large bouquet of flowers you're holding, to greet the host or hostess.

"Hi!" you exclaim, plastering a smile on your face. You find yourself looking at a red haired woman with wide eyes, who appears terrified of your plant. "I brought you a centerpiece!"

Your attempt to salvage the situation is a sad one, when you notice a chocolate angel figurine, missing half of its head, as well as a wing.

She stares at you, uncomfortably, but you just keep smiling, anyway.

"Judy!" You hear your name coming from a few feet away. "There's that brilliant smile!"

"Oh, hello, Dr. Howell," you say, greeting your dentist, warmly.

"Please, call me Carl! Or Dr. Carl, if you really insist," he says, with a mock smugness. Obviously, he tends to get quite personal with his patients, so you've come to recognize his attitude—confident, yet endearing. Still, he looks foreign, out of his scrubs, wearing tight jeans and a black button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled and quite a few buttons undone. "Judy, this is my wife, Emma," he says, and she finally flashes you a small smile.

"Emma, hi. Judy Fabray. Quinn's mom." you say, smiling, balancing the flowers in one hand, while extending your other.

"Oh, yes…" She nods, quickly, giving your hand a hesitant shake. She's the guidance counselor. You're certain she has heard all about the wretched woman who allowed her teenage daughter to be thrown out on the streets.

Carl pulls the centerpiece from your hands and places it in Emma's. "Ems, you wanna maybe put the angel on the kids table?" he whispers, as she nods, and they sweetly peck each other's lips.

Your lips curl into a smile, as he glances back at you. This role you're in… it's just, who you are.

Or, at least what you were always made to believe you were supposed to be.

Carl ushers you inside, politely introducing you to a few friends and coworkers. For the most part, though, everyone seems to be paired off. You wonder if that's why Will Schuester was not attending, given that Quinn had informed you of him divorcing that harlot who had tried to adopt her baby. After all, no one wants to feel lonely, on Christmas Eve.

You just keep smiling.

"So, can I get you a drink? We made cocktails!" Carl stops, making an enthusiastic offer.

You laugh, a little. "Thank you. A cocktail sounds lovely." You always go for liquor.

Naturally, you keep getting your drink refilled. First, by Carl, again. Then, Emma. Then, some awkward man who is telling you how blonde your hair is, as if you don't own a mirror.

By that point, you shudder, politely excusing yourself. You need to go sit down. You find a vacant arm chair, and shakily lower yourself into it, leaning your head against the side. It couldn't hurt to close your eyes…

Just for a minute.

XXX

"Hey, drunky! Wake up!" Some lesser blonde woman is snapping in your face, as your eyes creek open. The lights are far brighter than you remember. "Party's over for you, girlfriend."

You blink a few times, getting a better look at her. "Heeey! You're the bitch who wanted to steal my grandbaby!" you slur, pointing up at the woman you now recognize as Terri Schuester.

"I'll let that one slide, given how smashed you are." She narrows her eyelids, nodding her head.

You don't resist—not that you could, if you wanted to—when she pulls you out of the chair and slings an arm over her shoulder.

You smile, awkwardly, as you make your way through the crowd of people.

"Is everything going to be alright?" you hear the quiet guidance counselor ask, and her voice sounds even further away.

Terri doesn't answer—at least not with words, anyway.

You manage to lift your head, finding you're back at the front door, where Carl is standing with his arm around his wife.

"Thanks, Dr. Carl! Em… Ah, Emily!" you say, trying to wave, and keeping a smile on your face.

The red head—who, perhaps, is not Emily, after all—sighs, glancing up, and you want to laugh, imagining that as her version of eye rolling.

"Alright, let's just go…" Terri whispers, sharply, ushering you outside.

You make a feeble attempt to reach for your car, but Terri just keeps pulling you along, paying no attention to the fact that you're stumbling in over the pavement, in your heels. She helps you into the passenger seat, just barely, and then gets into her own side, immediately starting the car.

"I'm really sorry about the thing I said about Quinny's baby…" you murmur, resting your head on the seat.

"Well, dear, I'm pretty sure I'm a lot more sorry than you are," she says, casually, while backing out onto the street. "Put on your seatbelt."

You oblige, though sloppily. The directions you give her, to your apartment, are just as sloppy, and it doesn't help that she's still slightly buzzed, as well.

Not that you're in any position to judge.

"Why're you being so nice, anyway? Driving me home, and all?" You rest your head against the cool window, ignoring the fact that your hair clip is now jabbing into your skull.

"Well, if it wasn't me taking you, it would be _Emma_. And us divorcees have to stick together, right?" You can feel her glance at you, which causes you to open your eyes. She's smirking, as if she's happy to have another woman in her ring of abandoned housewives.

But you know she's not like you; not yet middle-aged and desperate. "Divorcee?" You raise your eyebrows, for a moment, before realizing that it makes your head throb, of course. "What are you complaining about? You were hanging all over that young, dark-haired man…"

Luckily, Terri wears a pretty hard shell. Otherwise, you'd be pretty disgusted with yourself, for the things you've said to her, tonight. But alcohol always gives you that extra boost of confidence, and lower inhibitions.

"Who, Dustin?" She scoffs, holding the wheel steady, with two hands. "Please. I'm only with him to piss Will off. They're like 'rival coaches,' or something." She speaks with a heavy sense of sarcasm.

"Oh…" you sigh. You find it ironic that you divorced Russel, while she's still trying to win Will back, and yet, you still feel like the more pathetic one. The reality of the situation is, she's using one attractive man, to make another jealous.

Meanwhile, you're shacking up with your daughter's ex-boyfriend.

"So, is Dr. Howell your dentist, too?" you ask, ready to change the subject.

Unfortunately, for your already clouded mind, that is not to be the case.

"Oh, god no. My sister and I go out of town for our dental care. Dustin sees Dr. Howell. I only agreed to come, once he mentioned the guy's freaky, germaphobe wife—and, oh, can you believe the little slut?" She takes her eyes of a the road, for a moment, to turn her head towards you. You just nod, briefly. "Well, I figured Will would still show up to pine after her, anyway. But… guess not." She shrugs, seeming content.

"Quinny was at Will's tonight…" you murmur, casually. But Terri snaps her head at you, in the least casual way possible. "Oh, oh!" you stammer, trying to sit up, again, but somehow managing to stumble, while in a seat. "With the rest of the glee club. And the, um… cheerleading coach. They didn't want him to be alone."

"Oh, god forbid… You know, that's so typical. Everyone rallies around Will Schuester, even when he brought it upon himself." She scoffs, sounding disgusted, and shakes her head.

You have no idea what she's rambling on about, and can barely even make sense of all her shouting, in your head, but somehow, you understand exactly where she's coming from.

"It's funny, huh?" You laugh, through a hiccup, even though what you're thinking really isn't that funny, at all. "How men always seem to come out on top, even when they're wrong…"

Terri just sighs, chuckling softly to herself. "Ever since I've been with Will, I've been trying so hard to put forth this image of the perfect girlfriend; perfect housewife. When really, I'm still just has fucked up as I've always been."

You simply nod, sympathetically, only pretending that you can't relate.

XXX

Terri is helping you out of her car, when you notice another pull up, followed by Finn and Quinn trotting up the stairs to your apartment.

"Quinny!" you shout, throwing your previously hunched over body upwards, to smile brightly at your daughter.

"Oh, god…" you hear her say, even from where you are, at the side of the road, and watch her grab Finn's arm, pulling him along even faster.

"Quinny, why aren't you with Sam?" you call out, when really, you want to ask her why she's with Finn. You burrow your eyebrows, pouting, with Terri still holding your body upright.

"We just dropped him off. He's only fifteen, remember?" She drags Finn inside, with her, slamming the door behind both of them.

You don't remember. Not because you're drunk. But because you're pretty certain she's never told you.

"You know, I'm pretty glad I didn't end up with her baby," Terri says.

You sigh, and the instant she releases you, you fall back against the car. "Sorry…" you mutter, even though there was not much you could do about it, anyway.

She just joins you, though, leaning beside you, staring up at the sky.

"That's the kid I'm fucking…" You immediately cringe, only at this point, it's more about the cursing, than anything else. Because who is Terri Schuester, to be judging you?

She raises her eyebrows. "Hell, you think I didn't get with Puckerman, when I got the chance?"

You look at each other for a minute, and simultaneously burst into laughter. And you realize that Terri Schuester, no matter how much of a hand she might have played in the biggest mistake of your life, will never be one to judge you.

No matter how fucked up both of you might be.

XXX

You're more than surprised, when Finn asks to see you again.

He tells you he doesn't have football practice, but that Quinn still does, with the Cheerios, so he can come over for a few hours. It's insane of you to agree, but you double lock the door, so you'll have plenty of time to react, if Quinn happens to come home.

You're sitting on the couch, a reasonable distance apart, with your legs crossed, when you ask what motivated him to call you up, again, anyway. After your show, over the weekend, you can't help but be that surprised.

"I told you, I just like being with you," is all he offers.

You smile, softly, sighing a little, as you shake your head. "I don't know… Isn't this all a little strange, given that you and Quinn…" You cut yourself off, shaking your head, again. No matter how much you've managed to put behind you, you'd rather not recall the unspecified details of your daughter's past.

"Did… Didn't she tell you?" he says, looking both confused and frightened. "It wasn't mine… I mean, we really did never…"

"Oh, well, of course I found out she was P-Puck's, but… I just assumed…"

He looks into your eyes, sadly, and shakes his head.

Wow. And all that time, he had still believed himself to be the father. He had remained by her side, taking in your daughter, when you had turned her away. You retreat even further on the couch, feeling guilty, realizing just how much he must have loved Quinn.

"I really did care about Quinn," he says, at first confirming your thoughts. It's what he says next, that you did not expect. "But I don't think she and I ever really loved each other. She was always pretty bossy and demanding, towards me, and I just… took it."

He looks at you, nervously; as if he's unsure he was supposed to say such things, about your daughter. But it's not as if you're an expert on right and wrong, when it comes to behavior your daughter would approve of.

"So, that's what it is…" you shake your head, almost smiling, sadistically. It made sense, once he put it that way. Your youngest daughter has always been ten times more headstrong. "Now you'd rather be with a more submissive woman, like me."

"Hey…" He reaches out, tilting your chin back up. "If you were still the same woman I watched stand by and allow her daughter to be thrown out on the streets, do you think I'd be here, right now?"

You give him a soft smile, pulling at the collar of his shirt, so that he's hovering over you. His larger frame guides your bodies, shifting them down the couch, so that you're parallel to one another.

And when you press your lips against his, you allow yourself to believe, just for a moment, that his words are true.

XXX

"So, I go over there, thinking he has something important, and it's a box of all this shit from high school! Like, stupid notes and whatever. I mean, it kind of pissed me off. He tells me to never come back, then calls me over for _that?_"

It's been like this for an hour. You're slumped over in the booth, already having guzzled two cups of coffee, before you remember that you ordered decaf.

Initially, you were excited when Terri called you to go out for coffee. You hadn't realized she wanted to have this huge venting session. Then again, isn't that what girlfriends are supposed to do, for each other? You haven't had a real friend since you first married Russell. It was a nice thought. Terri was a little crazy, and Quinn might not be too happy about it, but the woman had been there for you, more than most people, recently.

She's looking at you with burrowed eyebrows and a disgusted look on her face, waiting for your response. You feel guilty, and try to tune into the conversation, from them on.

"Oh, that's rubbish…" you say, hoping the word is both vague and complex enough to distract from your previous lack of attention.

She rambles on, and you realize that she wouldn't have noticed if you had said you were about to set your hair on fire. "The stuff he gave me is rubbish. Like, it's been a year. Why wouldn't you just _throw it out_?"

You stare at her, wondering if she's just playing dumb, as some sort of defense mechanism, or if she really doesn't see it. Maybe there's nothing to see, you consider. But it's not like Russell has called you for anything, and you're pretty sure he has one of your China sets.

"Maybe he wanted the reminders. Maybe he misses you."

Then again, it's not like you wanted Russell to miss you. You had left him, after all. Sometimes you forget that fact. You have to keep reminding yourself.

"Oh, god no. Are you kidding? He's _still _all over the ginger. Don't even get me started on her," she scoffs.

You know you don't have to.

"I mean, what kind of fucked up bitch spends half a year chasing after a married man, then goes off and marries some dentist she met a few months ago?" She shakes her head, looking down. "Whatever. I'm sure she and Will will have another pathetic fling, and she'll ruin her own marriage, too." Terri grinned, taking a sip of her own coffee.

"Russell's secretary had red hair, too…" you mutter, almost against your will, staring into your coffee cup.

"His skank was his secretary?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

You just nod.

"See! It's always in the workplace, and it's _always _those damn gingers. People don't believe me, but I'm telling you…"

You can't help but laugh a little. It's a ridiculous assumption, but it's not like you have the room to deny the irony of it.

"Oh well. You know, I should be grateful I have Dustin, at least. He did turn out to be kind of a great guy," she says, taking a sip of her milkshake. "What about you? Are you seeing anyone, yet?"

You vaguely remember telling her about Finn, but it's not like either of you would legitimately acknowledge whatever you had going on with him. You just frown, a little, shaking your head.

Terri merely shrugs, poking her straw at her drink. Somehow, to your surprise, you manage to see it. And you realize that deep down, she's no less lonely than you are.

She's just good at hiding it.

Just like you are.

XXX

You knew that the arrangement (you couldn't quite call it a relationship, after all) was only temporary. You knew that it was like an hour glass—where it was bound to run out at some point, only you couldn't have known when. You knew that one day, like a ticking time bomb, it would just happen.

You just didn't expect it to crush you, _so _much.

But it's not him. You know that. It's the rejection. Always.

He sat there, sadly, holding your hand; telling you how he didn't want to end things, and how much he loved being with a _woman_—emphasis on the 'woman'—like you, but that it was better, for both of you, he said, if he was with someone his own age.

Of course, you smile, telling him it's alright; that you understand completely and you should have made him realize this, much sooner. You even let him hug you goodbye, telling him that he's a good _kid_, and that you wish him the best.

You start drinking when he closes the door.

You don't remember stopping.

XXX

You wake up the next morning in your bed, indicating that Quinn came home and moved you, slept, herself, and already left for school.

You groan, rolling over, and feeling more pathetic about yourself, than ever. It's already eleven o' clock in the morning.

After prying yourself out of bed, you make yourself a cocktail, because you're simply not in the mood to endure a hangover all day. You take it to your room and sip it slowly, while you change into fresh clothes, pull your hair back into its clip, and touch up your make up, a bit.

On your way out the door, you grab a pint of gin and a bottle of tonic water.

XXX

Periodically, you remove your large framed sunglasses, checking the time. You have no idea, if he has practice or not, today. In fact, you have no idea if Quinn does, either, which is why you wrapped a light scarf around your head.

You're a little over halfway through the bottle, when kids start spilling out of the school and into the parking lot, where you're seated in your car. Finn is not hard to spot, given his sight.

He's smiling, high-fiving one of his friends, and kissing a dark-haired girl goodbye.

You almost want to let him be. You know you should.

You leave the bottles behind, hopping out of your car, and pulling the sunglasses off your face, as you approach him.

He stops dead in his tracks, directly in front of you. "What are you doing here?" He's all shifty eyed, glancing around, self-consciously.

"Finn!" you call out, masking your hurt, by plastering the fakest of smiles on your face. "Honey, let's talk…" You pout your lips, trailing a manicured hand down his arm.

"You shouldn't be here," he says, sharply, before muttering the next part. "I told you, I got back together with Rachel…"

"Let's just… Let's go for a ride, okay?" You lean up to stroke his face, and he backs off, crinkling his nose, looking disgusted.

"No way. You're crazy." He waves his arms in front of his face, completely put off, as if he hadn't been holding you close; whispering sweet nothings in your ear, just a week ago. "Call a cab, and… just get out of here," he says, walking off, scowling.

You don't call a cab, but you do leave. Carelessly, you drive to the closest bar you can find.

XXX

The bartender cuts you off, probably four drinks too late, and yet you're still miserable and craving more.

Is it so wrong to want to get out of your head, for a bit? After all, who wouldn't want to escape this mundane life you've been living.

For so long, you've tried to let other people validate your worth. You know it's the only way you'd believe it. But eventually, even they will remind you just how little you are.

The bartender offers to call you a cab, but you refuse, whipping out your own cell phone, instead. Pity. The last thing you need is more pity.

Quinn doesn't answer the first time you call her; or the second; or the fifth. But can you blame her, really?

Your scroll through your contacts, coming across Terri's name and figuring she's your best bet, when you get a better idea.

Or, at least, what you thought was one, at the time.

XXX

"What the hell, Mrs. Fabray?"

You wake up, lifting your head off the bar, cringing when you see that it's still light out, as Finn barrels through the door.

"Finn… You came!" you declare, with a smile creeping onto your face. You have to squint just to see him, but he's there.

"Well, I didn't want you to get hurt, okay? What you did was stupid!" he shouts, angrily.

You stare up at him, sadly. He already hurt you. Every man in your life has. What difference should it make if you drink yourself into oblivion?

He lets out a long, soft sigh, sitting down on the bar stool, next to you. "Why are you doing this? I mean, come on… You didn't really care about me that much, did you?"

You stare at your empty glass, playing with the last bit of condensation, shaking your head, a little. "You made me feel good…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, really. I just—."

"It's okay, Finn," you mumble, cutting him off. "You're just a kid," you add, even though it doesn't have much to do with whatever he was getting at.

"I wish I could argue with you, there," he says, with a hint of regret in his voice. "But I am still a kid, Mrs. Fabray. And you're not. You deserve more. We both do." He's leaning his elbows against the bar, turning his head toward you.

"I don't," you declare, admitting the truth to yourself, and anyone else.

"Yes… You do," he says, slowly. "You've just never been able to realize it, before. For years, you let that… that bastard, control you. You almost lost your daughter, over it. But you're getting a second chance, now. Don't blow it…"

"I-I'll try…" you whisper, your voice shaky. He places a shoulder on your arm, forcing you to keep it together. You have to—at least, for now. You've already put the poor boy through enough, especially for one day.

He's still looking at you, sadly, when both of you hear the door creak open again, and see Quinn storming inside, still in her cheerleading skirt and letterman jacket.

She glances back and forth between the two of you, opening her mouth, looking confused, disgusted, and furious.

"What are you doing here, Finn?" she finally settles on, shaking her head, with burrowed eyebrows.

"She said you weren't answering your phone…" he mutters, meekly, and your guilt instantly kicks in.

"Quinny, sweetheart… Let's go home," you murmur, carelessly.

"Why don't you guys just go, Quinn," Finn says, softly. "I can help her to your—."

"No!" Quinn scrunches her eyes shut, throwing a hand out, in protest. "She is _always _like this, and I just can't handle it anymore!" She's not even looking anywhere near you.

Finn stands up, and approaches her, slowly, now placing a hand on her shoulder. "We're going to figure it out, alright?" you hear him whisper.

They talk, too quietly for you to hear, for a moment. Quinn eventually nods, a few times, before they break apart and she walks over to you.

"You still love my daughter, Finn?" The words slip out before you have a chance to consider them. You lean over, glancing past a horrified looking Quinn, gauging his reaction.

"I care about both of you girls, very much," he states. He flashes a small smile, and a wave, and then he's gone.

Quinn just looks at you, sadly, and offers a hand, helping you up.

XXX

The entire next day, you distract yourself with errands—trips to the bank, an overdue hair appointment, and grocery shopping.

But at the end of it, as you're wrestling with bags, and trying to dig your keys out of your purse, you're still more than ready for a drink.

Just one, though.

Once you manage to get the door open, however, you find both Finn and Quinn standing there, almost as if they were waiting for you.

You panic, at your first thought being that he told her. But Quinn just looks… Well, you can't even place it, really.

Finn grabs the groceries out of your hands and starts putting them away, while Quinn just stands there, holding herself, her arms clutching each other across her chest.

"Hey, mom," she says, meekly, just barely looking up at you. "Can we go somewhere? Finn said he'd drive…"

You just look at her, with your mouth slightly open, occasionally trying to glance at Finn. You're not sure where she wants to go, nor can you understand why Finn would be driving you.

In the end, though, you're forced to agree, because you can't think of a reason not to.

XXX

For whatever reason, you take the back seat. Sitting in silence makes the ride seem much longer than it is. But when you stop, you find that you're only at the school. Quinn's high school.

You're just sitting in the parking lot, behind the auditorium. No one says anything, for a few moments, but you can't bring yourself to ask what's going on.

"Mommy," you finally hear Quinn whisper, without looking back. You can't even recall the last time she's call you that. "Will you go to this AA meeting? And keep going to them, until you're better? Please?"

_Alcoholics anonymous? _You shake your head, desperately. "But Quinny, I can't… I-I'm not…"

"Mom." She stops you, and you can hear the desperation in her own voice. "I need you. I have needed you, and you're back, but you're not _here_. You're not here for me. And we really need each other, right now. Please, do this for me… And do it for you. You're stronger than this, mom. Now's your chance to step up and prove it to yourself."

You can feel your heart rate quicken, and your breathing grow ragged, as your panic increases. You glance around, wanting to open the door, run out, and run away.

But you know that you can't run, and you can't hide, any longer.

"Come on, we'll walk you in," Finn says, when you don't respond, and gives Quinn a reassuring nod.

The two of them get out first, opening your door for you, before you've even clicked off your seatbelt. Your mouth is just hanging open; your legs moving, only on the account of auto-pilot.

Quinn holds your arm, as they lead you inside, ushering you into the auditorium lobby.

And there, in the doorway, stands Terri Schuester, just filing away at her nails.

Your throat tightens, and you feel the red creep onto your cheeks. No. She can't be coming here, too. No one can know about this. No one can know…

"Terri!" you cry out, your voice shaky and two octaves higher than usual. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles, softly, at Quinn—whose foot you notice tapping, rapidly—before glancing back at you. "You need a sponsor for these things, right?" she says, wrapping her arms around you, and reaches for your hand.

You take it, in spite of yourself, no longer aware of what is even going on, anymore. You glance back at Quinn, nervously, your eyes wide and full of panic.

"It's gonna be okay, mom," she says, clamping a hand over her mouth, as Finn wraps an arm around her shoulders.

They watch you go. Terri leads you down the aisle of the large auditorium, and up onto the stage. You feel strangely on display, despite the countless others who are already sitting up there.

Terri squeezes your hand, before sitting down on a chair, next to you. She flashes you periodic, reassuring looks, and you try to smile, but you can already tell that your face reads nothing but pure terror.

The meeting starts and everyone goes around the room, making their standard introduction. You feel as if you're on some twisted reality show. You're shaking, almost sweating, as it gets closer and closer to your turn.

But when it does, you stand, smoothing your skirt and clearing your throat.

"Hi. My name is Judy Fabray, and I'm an alcoholic."

Suddenly, saying the most degrading words you've ever spoken in your life, feels more liberating than anything you've done in a very, very long time.


End file.
